


At Rest

by spacemutineer



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Heartbeats, Intimacy, Love, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29186127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemutineer/pseuds/spacemutineer
Summary: John nestled his ear in place and closed his eyes. Harold's heartbeat was slow and even. His body felt much different against him than Jessica's did, but the relief it gave him was the same.
Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese, Jessica Arndt/John Reese
Comments: 19
Kudos: 44





	At Rest

If he was being honest, he felt a little jealous of her for it. Jessica fell asleep before him every night they were together, almost as soon as she closed her eyes. It was a skill she picked up from years working in the ER, and it was damn impressive. But it did leave John with at least some time to wait. 

He knew he could make himself sleep if he absolutely had to, his own developed talent. But it was so much better, actually restoring instead of just reviving, to be lured there instead by the peaceful sound of her heartbeat. 

Jessica was much smaller than him and he curled himself to fit around her at night, to feel as much of her at once as he could. The curve of her breast felt warm against his cheek. Beneath his hand, her soft belly moved with each calm breath she took. This delicate, gentle being allowed him so close. He fell asleep easily then beside her.

In the long, lonely years that followed, he stuck with forcing himself to sleep at night. It worked. It was enough to keep him functional, keep him effective at his job. And that was all that mattered, at least it was until his job became working for Finch.

Slowly, sleep became easier to reach, even beginning to come on its own without his active effort. John didn't have to try to shove every memory away from him at night to find any kind of rest. He could actually dwell in some of them a little.

A smile from a number happy to still be alive. A hug from someone eager to embrace him in their arms in thanks for his help. Actual gratitude, for John Reese, of all people.

But sleep also began to come easier by dwelling in memories of times with Finch.

Lunch out of takeout boxes, as Harold talked with his hands and his chopsticks about John posing as a CEO at a party later that evening. Early mornings in the library, standing beside the cleverest person John had ever met, discussing the current number up on the glass or just what donuts were in the box that day. Those first few nights after John was shot, when Harold buzzed around him like a bumblebee, checking his vitals and his bandages, bringing him water and medication, and refusing to go even as far away from him as the bedroom to rest, opting for a nearby chair instead. 

Now he was only as far away as the other side of John's bed, deeply asleep beside him. John could feel him there, the warmth of his body radiating under the covers. 

He lay and watched him. It always felt a little strange to see this brilliant mind at rest. When he was awake, Harold never stopped thinking and planning and analyzing. John loved to watch him think. It gave him the same thrill through his spine as watching a fire spread when Finch devoured information and burned through possibilities. Like a fire, he was unpredictable and uniquely dangerous, always to be respected, never to be underestimated.

But when he slept, Harold was just the quiet and fragile man he also always was. Working with him, John often felt nearly overwhelmed by the urge to protect him. When he was asleep, it was almost inescapable.

There was a part of John he could not be free from that had been cultivated to see vulnerability like this as a weakness to be exploited. It only made the rest of him want to hold Harold and his beautiful vulnerability that much closer, to wrap himself around him so no one could ever dare try to hurt him again.

As John moved to lie against him, Harold sighed in his sleep. John was never lucky enough to sleep with a partner in his bed for long enough to fully settle into the feeling. At least Harold had his years with Grace, and he relaxed deeper into rest with another body beside him. Finch's thinking brain often had a hard time allowing him to enjoy much physical touch in his waking hours. His senses were too sharp for that, keen like a knife blade, too powerful for his own good. But asleep, his body welcomed it.

John nestled his ear in place and closed his eyes. Harold's heartbeat was slow and even. His body felt much different against him than Jessica's did, but the relief it gave him was the same.

Instead of the smooth give of her breast, it was soft curls of his chest hair that cushioned John's cheek. The layered scent of Harold's shaving cream lingered around him instead of the sweet smell of Jessica's coconut shampoo. But the strong heart beating beneath all of that, the heart John trusted and believed in, the heart John had come to love with all of his own, it sounded just the same.

How many hearts were still beating today only because this one did? John used to wonder that on the nights he spent with Jessica. She was an emergency room nurse. Her entire life was dedicated to keeping other people alive. She took their privacy seriously and only told him bits and pieces about any of them, but he used to think of them all as he lay beside her. A heartbeat for every life she protected. He liked to imagine them as he drifted to sleep in her arms.

With Harold, there was no need to imagine. John had been right there for every life Harold saved. For every life they saved together. He could see their faces in his mind. He could hear their names whispered in the sound.

For Theresa, a beat. Joey, a beat.

Megan. Samuel. Zoe. Joss.

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

On and on, for all of them.

And for himself, of course. He was first. Harold Finch risked everything to find John and save his life first.

_Thump-thump._

He wrapped himself closer and Harold's arm curled over him naturally, like it was meant to fit there. Like John was meant to fit there. It was almost too much to bear. 

Harold was a survivor who gave John a purpose for his own survival. He cared about him and he cared for him. Even at that moment, they were lying in the bed of the elegant apartment Harold had bought and furnished for him. He'd wanted John to have somewhere to feel comfortable, to feel safe. 

Then and now, Harold wanted to hold him, to create a place in the world for John to belong. A place close to him. A place in his own heart.

John could feel his muscles loosening and his consciousness beginning to drift. The gentle rhythm of life continuing was pulling him under. It sounded like a welcome to him, an invitation to rest. As always and forever, John had Harold Finch in his ear, guiding him onward to where he needed to be.


End file.
